


Debtors

by fuzipenguin



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Established Relationship, M/M, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Twincest, gladiator!twins, prostitute!ratchet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6857590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't have much in common other than they're working off debt. But a chance encounter between three mechs may just turn into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Debtors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thoughtsdemise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/gifts).



> Commission fic! The origins of this fic was actually the last segment. It was originally posted on tumblr and has since undergone some tweakings to fit better with the beginnings of the piece.

             “Hey, Ratchet - got a last minute addition for you!”

             Ratchet paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder at Motor, one of the evening receptionists. “Not tonight,” he replied meaningfully, rubbing the back of one calf with his opposite pede. There was a drying trickle of transfluid there, among other places on his body, that he couldn’t wait to wash off.          

             “No, of course not. But your schedule was still open for tomorrow so I booked you down at the Pits,” Motor explained and then flinched.

             Ratchet merely shrugged. The other bots hated the gladiatorial bookings and would whine if they were chosen. Ratchet didn’t much care; the gladiators tended to be rough, but usually conked out after only one or two rounds. And for some reason, the Pit engagements were always a full night, so basically Ratchet pulled in a heap of credits for very little effort on his part. He mostly spent his time on coursework.

             Sometimes he had to touch up his paint after a Pit booking, but he never sustained real injuries like some of his fellows claimed to. In Ratchet’s opinion though, most of the other buymechs were a bit prissy. Typical for the higher quality service their company offered.

             Ratchet was a bit unusual in that regard. He wasn’t classically pretty like the others; he was boxy and wide, and could best be described as ‘sturdy’. But he was naturally adventurous in bed and had explored dozens of kinks over time. With that to offer, he was already starting to build up a client base even after only a few short months.     

             “All night engagement again, I presume?” Ratchet inquired. He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen up the cables in his arms which had been pulled taut above his head for the past two hours.

            “Yeah. Soundwave again. Didn’t say who the fighter was, only that he wanted someone as a reward for a bout tomorrow. Creepy fragger,” Motor said with a shudder. “Have you ever met him?”

            “No. Only ever dealt with the trainers. He tips well though, so I can’t fault him that,” Ratchet replied. “Why do you say he’s creepy?’

            “He talks weird; all monotone and emotionless. And he sounds like a drone because he never uses full sentences,” Motor explained. “You would know him if you heard him, trust me.”

            “Mmm. As long as he pays me, and I don’t have any lasting damage, I don’t really care,” Ratchet said, shrugging again. “Anything else? I need to get this spunk off me.”

            Motor’s gaze traveled down Ratchet’s legs, and the receptionist’s lips twisted wryly. “No, nothing else. Enjoy your wash – it certainly looks like you earned it.”

            “All right, thanks. I plan on heading out the back way so have a good rest of your shift,” Ratchet said, already moving into the hallway and waving good bye with one hand.

            There was a washrack with his name on it and nothing else was going to stand between him and it.

\--

            “Wakey, wakey!” came the shout just seconds before a loud pounding on the door started.  Sunstreaker buried his face in the berth and snarled. His hands clenched into fists, and he resisted the urge to dig his taloned fingers into the thin mattress. If he ruined it, he’d have to build up enough credits to buy another and that would be a dumb reason to have to stay here longer.  

 _Up and at ‘em, Sunshine_ , Sideswipe crooned in Sunstreaker’s head.

 _I hate that fragger_ , Sunstreaker replied in greeting.

_Oh, I do too, but he’s not worth it. He doesn’t even come up to your waist; what kind of satisfaction could you get from punching him?_

            Sunstreaker thought about it. Rumble was their escort for the morning trips to the energon dispensers and training rings. He always ridiculed and poked fun at them every step of the way. A few more wins and they’d have earned enough favor with Soundwave to be released from escort monitoring. Which would just leave them with the helm implants that prevented them from leaving the compound. And punching the staff’s face to a satisfactory pulp.

            _Quite a lot, actually_ , Sunstreaker retorted, leveraging himself to his feet.

            He stretched, listening to Rumble’s knocking become progressively louder and more annoying. As if that would make Sunstreaker move any faster. The escorts and trainers weren’t allowed in the fighters’ rooms, so Rumble couldn’t come in and force Sunstreaker out. But if Sunstreaker lingered too long, Rumble could contact Soundwave. Who would come down, stare through the observation window of the door with that creepy visor of his, and lift up the remote to their implants.

            At the promise of a processor-melting helmache, most fighters only tested Soundwave once. But Sunstreaker didn’t mind pain.

            He minded Sideswipe’s however, as Soundwave had found out on the third visit to Sunstreaker’s room. After that, he hadn’t tested Soundwave again.

            _Mm… I actually wouldn’t mind ripping his limbs off and watching him wriggle in his own fluids_ , Sideswipe sent with a vicious little bubble of imaginary satisfaction.

            _And people wonder if we’re related,_ Sunstreaker said, ambling over to the door and opening it. Rumble paused mid-knock, his optics going wide as he stared up. Sunstreaker wondered why until he realized that he was smiling.

            It wasn’t a very nice smile.

            He stepped out of his room, gaze transferring to the mech propped against the wall behind Rumble. Sunstreaker’s smile softened and became more genuine as he met the optics of his twin.

            They would get to spend tonight together, their reward for good behavior over the past two weeks. Before that, Sideswipe had done significant damage to one of the trainers for insulting Sunstreaker’s intelligence. There had been quite a bit of plating missing before Sideswipe’s implant had given him a big enough shock that he had been knocked unconscious.

            Sideswipe didn’t mind pain much either.

            But both of them hated separation, which had been their punishment. Soundwave didn’t keep them separated by anything other than two doors and a hallway. But that was more than enough, considering they rarely got the opportunity to just _rest_ together. They were both looking forward to recharging in one another’s arms again.

            And maybe a little something more if all went right today.

            “Save that aggression for your fight later,” Rumble advised, taking a nervous step back as Sunstreaker swept by him with a growl. Sideswipe and he brushed fingers as Sunstreaker took his proper place by his brother’s side.

            “Oh, I have plenty left,” Sunstreaker purred, optics narrowing as he stared down at Rumble.

\--

            “Do you need a hand?”

            Ratchet startled and whirled around, scrub brush held awkwardly above his head. Mirage stared back at him, an inquisitive look on his handsome face.

            “If you wouldn’t mind,” Ratchet replied slowly.

            Mirage was a recent addition to the roster. He was obviously of noble descent, but a lot of second class nobles migrated into sexwork. High class escorts and call mechs were a reputable option for those mecha too far down the inheritance line.

            “Not in the slightest. As long as you return the favor, of course,” Mirage said with a small smile.

            Ratchet’s gaze traveled over Mirage’s slim form. Somehow he doubted a mech with that many individual plates had issues with flexibility, but maybe Mirage was just being friendly. Ratchet got snubbed by the other workers more often than not but there were a few here who at least treated him cordially.

            “Sure, I got some time before I have to leave,” Ratchet said, handing over the brush and turning back around.

            Mirage stepped up behind Ratchet and applied the bristles to his back. He arched into the pleasant sensation that came without any contortions on his part.

            “Excuse my forwardness, but your frame type is a little unusual for this establishment, is it not?” Mirage asked after a minute of firm scrubbing.

            “Notice that, did you?” Ratchet asked, amused. “It takes all kinds. And I’m a kinky fragger who’s pretty tough. When a client wants someone beautiful, they’ll ask for you. When they want someone to ‘face through a wall or suspend from the ceiling, I’m the one who gets sent out.”

            Mirage’s touch paused for a moment before resuming. “Thank you.”

            Ratchet looked over his shoulder at the smaller mech. “For what?” he inquired, confused.

            “For calling me beautiful,” Mirage answered, face carefully blank. He scrubbed a little harder at Ratchet’s lower back, ducking his head.

            “Surely you hear that a lot?” Ratchet ventured, turning back around.

            “Of course,” Mirage said blithely. “But normally it is a term of possession or greed with an expectation associated with it. Very few have called me beautiful as a genuine compliment.”

            Ratchet considered that. He supposed to could understand it, although he had never seen any of his other coworkers bothered by the term.

            Before Ratchet could comment, Mirage continued on. “Where are you going tonight?”

            “The Pits. I think I’m becoming a favorite down there,” Ratchet said, twisting a little to direct the brush to a particularly itchy area.

            “Dear me. Is that safe? ” Mirage questioned, obliging by focusing in on the spot. 

            “Safe enough. I like it a little rough,” Ratchet admitted.

            There was a silence for a minute before Mirage spoke again. “Do you…?”

            The brush slowed and Ratchet looked over his shoulder again to see Mirage looking contemplative. “Do I what?”

            “It’s nothing,” Mirage said, Ratchet’s sensors registering the heat of embarrassment suffusing the other mech’s frame. Ratchet stepped forward, out from under Mirage’s touch and turned to face him.

            “You can ask me anything,” Ratchet said quietly. “I’m training to be a doctor. Client confidentiality isn’t a thing with buymechs, but it is with medics.”

            Mirage bit his lower lip, a fetching sight. He really was beautiful; clients would adore him. Ratchet made a note to himself to spread the word among the receptionists that Mirage would be a good fit for clients looking for a romantic engagement. Shy and demure looked good on him.

            “Do you…” Mirage stepped in closer and dropped his voice into a whisper, “…overload?”

            Well, that was an easy enough question and one he’d heard murmured between other mecha new to the field.

            “Often. Not every time, but a good deal. Are you having trouble?” Ratchet asked kindly.

            “I… I don’t know what I should be doing,” Mirage admitted, looking over his shoulder as if expecting the owner of the company to come walking in. “ _Should_ I be overloading? Some of the clients seem disappointed if I don’t and…”

            “Hey, hey, it’s ok,” Ratchet said soothingly. He gently grasped Mirage’s elbow and tugged him over to one of the benches.

            “Let me tell you what I’ve learned since I’ve been here…”

\--

            “Why do they even bother making us all pretty?” Sideswipe complained, standing under the spray of hot water. The streams of it trickled under his heavy armor, relaxing tense cables. He didn’t want to leave the washing station and move on to the others. He wished he could just immerse himself in a giant pool of hot water and lay back, enjoying the gentle lap of it against his frame.

            “Are you really complaining about getting clean?” Sunstreaker returned, generously applying soap to his sponge.

            “Clean? No. Shiny and perfect, though? What’s the point? It’ll all be ruined within five minutes of the fight.”

            Seemed like a waste of resources to him. They were waxed several times a week, depending on how frequently they ended up on the fight roster.

            “I like it,” Sunstreaker replied, scrubbing at himself. It was his second round of washing. He never washed just once, but normally two or even three times if given the opportunity. Sideswipe knew his brother never really felt clean here. And Sunstreaker was starting to get a taste for the admiration of the crowd.

            Sideswipe merely groaned in irritation, watching his brother turn this way and that. His fingers itched to take the sponge from his twin and let his own soapy hands rove over Sunstreaker’s frame.

            Curling his hands into fists, he ducked his head back under the water again, both feeling and hearing it pound down on his sensory horns. The need was rising again, making his lower belly clench with anticipation. Tonight was just a few hours away. If they were careful, if they were quiet, they could merge. That was allowed, although many of the keepers and trainers treated the act as if it were disgusting.

            Actual interfacing was downright forbidden, although no one had ever been able to give them a good reason why. The first time they’d been caught they had received a verbal warning. The second time, a separation for a month. The third, because their need for one another was downright insatiable sometimes, had resulted in a severe whipping for them both, the worst punishment they had ever received in the rings.

            Now they were very careful to only merge when their bodies essentially demanded it, making them sluggish and weak.

            Come to think of it, that was probably the only reason merging was permitted. Twin gladiators were novel, but they weren’t just pretty to look at. When their sparks were in sync, they were downright lethal. And that made their owner a great deal of money.  

            Sideswipe felt a nudge at his lower back and he stepped out from under the water, blinking to clear his visual sensors. Sunstreaker stared back at him, that same lust mirrored in his optics.

            It had definitely been too long. At least the fight would take some of the edge off. And the merge should do the rest.

            “You about ready to get dried off and waxed?” Sunstreaker asked, letting his fingers rest lightly just above the swell of Sideswipe’s aft.

            A glance over his twin’s shoulder revealed their escort absently picking his own claws and not paying them any attention. Sideswipe pressed back into his brother’s touch, reaching out his own hand to brush Sunstreaker’s hip.

            “Mmm. I could care less,” Sideswipe murmured with a smirk curving up one side of his mouth. “But you know I always enjoy watching you get spiffified.”

            Sunstreaker huffed, taking a step closer, optics lighting up. “I’ll put on a little show for you, if you’d like. If you’ll do the same for me in the ring.”

            Sideswipe purred, tipping his head up and watching Sunstreaker’s optics track the trail of water trickling down Sideswipe’s neck. “You want someone’s head? Or their spark?”

            “Mmm… both,” Sunstreaker decided. “Make it bloody.”

            “Anything for you, gorgeous,” Sideswipe replied, leaning in. They were separated by mere inches and Sunstreaker’s lips were so close… surely a quick kiss wouldn’t hurt…

            “Hey. Hey! Quit it, you glitched perverts!” Spotter’s angry voice exclaimed, ringing out in the washracks.

            Sideswipe and Sunstreaker turned in unison, baring their fanged denta in identical snarls. Spotter was a little less wary of them then Rumble however, and merely tapped his baton against his leg meaningfully.

            “We’re on a timeline, you know,” Spotter growled. “You’re not _that_ special. Don’t even know why Soundwave keeps you two freaks around,” he finished, muttering.

            Sideswipe turned off his shower head and sauntered on over to the stack of towels, picking up two and throwing one to Sunstreaker. “Don’t have to be special. Just have to make the boss creds. And we most definitely do.”

            In fact, at the rate they were going, they’d have earned enough to buy their freedom in two more years. That was a lot faster than most other indebted fighters. They’d endure the occasional separation for the opportunity to be together in the long run.

\--

            “There,” Mirage announced. “All finished.”

            Ratchet turned his neck and looked up at his coworker. “I still say I didn’t need any touchups. But thanks.”

            “You’re welcome. And you most certainly did,” Mirage replied tartly. “Just because you are about to get interfaced through a wall does not mean you should not look good while doing so.”

            “I never actually look _good_ ,” Ratchet replied, standing and stretching out the kinks from sitting so long. “More like passable at best.”

            Mirage stepped in front of him, reaching up and taking Ratchet’s face in his hands. Ratchet blinked down at the other mech in surprise. “Do not do that. You are quite handsome,” he scolded with a frown.

            For the first time in ages, Ratchet felt his frame heat in embarrassment.

            “And with my additions, I think you are rather fetching,” Mirage added, dropping his hands and stepping back to survey Ratchet.

            “Your little noble head is cracked. I know a good doctor who could take a look at you,” Ratchet offered with a grin, patting his arms and shoulders to ensure they were dry. The new red piping _was_ a nice addition.

            “Hn. You do not have your degree yet, sir,” Mirage replied with an answering smile. It faded into an expression of seriousness. “But I believe you will be a great doctor. You have a good bedside manner, at least. Thank you for listening and giving me suggestions.”

            Ratchet shrugged, a little discomforted. Taking time out to listen to someone was such a natural thing for him it didn’t feel right to receive such profusive gratitude.

            “Eh, you’ll do just fine. I won’t be back until the weekend, but you’ll have to tell me how your next engagement goes,” Ratchet said, mentally checking to see if there was anything he needed to grab before he left. “I’ll catch up with you at some point so I can return the favor of a wash.”

            After Ratchet had spoken with Mirage at length about overloads during an engagement, there hadn’t been quite enough time for Ratchet to help the other mech with his grooming. But Mirage had waved him off as the noble didn’t have an appointment until the following day.

            “I look forward to it,” Mirage said, bending his helm genteelly. “But Ratchet… please be careful. I know you are confident in your abilities, but I have heard stories about the gladiators and how cruel they can be.”

            “They’re just mechanisms like you or I, Mirage,” Ratchet replied, a little thoughtfully. “They’re not evil or bad; many of them are there to work off incurred debt. I’m not much different than them, really.”

            Mirage frowned. “I think you are greatly different, Ratchet. You are learning a profession in which you will save lives. And in the meantime, you are providing pleasure. They are brutes who maim and kill.”

            “Have you met one?” Ratchet asked bluntly. “A gladiator?”

            The noble looked taken back. “I… no. I have not.”

            “Then don’t judge them so harshly or so fast. Soldiers maim and kill too, you know,” Ratchet replied.

            “That is true,” Mirage said slowly. “You are quick to defend them, Ratchet. Is there one or two in particular you are fond of?”

            Ratchet pursed his lips in thought before shaking his head. “I think there’s only one I’ve seen more than once, and he wasn’t exactly a thrilling conversationalist. No, I relate to them, just a little bit.”

            “Hmm. I will consider your opinion on this also. Perhaps I will be selected for an engagement there and have my mind changed,” Mirage commented.

            “Yeah, maybe,” Ratchet said, although he didn’t know how wise of an idea that would be. It would do Mirage some good to experience the underbelly of society. Yet maybe not until he had a little more experience berthing others for money. “Anyway, I’m going to head out. I’ll see you in a few more days.”

            “Could you… would you mind letting me know that you are all right? After?” Mirage tentatively asked.

            He looked very small and alone standing in the middle of the grooming area. Ratchet felt a stirring of pity for the other mech. Ratchet was as only child, but he grew up in a neighborhood in which there had been dozens of sparklings running around. As he matured, he had often been asked to watch over the others when their creators went out. He had grown quite fond of many of them and had often pretended that they were his brothers or sisters. Mirage reminded him of those very young kids, uncertain and clinging to anyone they found familiar.

            “Yeah, absolutely,” Ratchet replied kindly. “It likely won’t be until tomorrow morning though. I’m booked all night.”

            If anything, Mirage looked even more worried. “All night?”

            Ratchet waved away Mirage’s concerns. “It’s all right. Callmechs are always a reward for a fight. So usually the gladiators go one, maybe two times, and then they recharge for the rest of the night. It’s really not that bad.”

            “All right. Well… good luck.”

            “You too, for tomorrow. Good night, Mirage.”

            Ratchet smiled once more at the other mech before leaving. As he did, he set himself a reminder to speak with Mirage in the morning. He would forget otherwise; he wasn’t used to others caring what happened to him.

 --

            “So, who are we fighting tonight? You haven’t told us yet,” Sideswipe said, the two of them looming over Spotter’s shorter frame. They were waiting in the gladiator hallway which led up to the ring. Sunstreaker was already fidgeting in eager anticipation, protocols pinging to life one after the other as they heard the distant shouts of the crowd and felt the stomp of pedes above their heads.

            Sideswipe’s battle systems were also ramping up, but he went still instead of restless like his brother. While Sunstreaker tended towards berserker, Sideswipe grew cold and calculating the moment he stepped foot into a ring. Which was why he liked to know information about their opponents before starting, information their various escorts had always given them before.

            “It’s a surprise,” Spotted replied shortly. He had his helm tilted to the side as if listening to someone on internal comms. Probably the announcer.

            “I don’t like surprises. If Soundwave wants us to win, we shouldn’t have surprises,” Sideswipe commented. He frowned, reaching out and grabbing Sunstreaker’s elbow. He squeezed gently while sending a soothing pulse across their link. Sideswipe wanted his twin as focused as possible, especially if they were to encounter something, or someone, they hadn’t before.

            Spotter shrugged. “Maybe he’s testing you. To see just how good you really are. Or, maybe…” he said, turning around to look at them with a smug smirk, “… he doesn’t want you to win. Maybe he’s bored with you. The two of you are a lot of upkeep.”

            “Why, you little…” Sunstreaker growled, taking a step forward towards the other mech. Sideswipe’s grip on his brother tightened and he used it to swing himself between the two frames. It rankled to act as a guard for Spotter, but he didn’t need his brother momentarily weakened by one of their implants’ debilitating shocks.

            “Or maybe someone’s jealous of how good we are and is trying to shake us up before we go out there,” Sideswipe remarked lowly, catching Sunstreaker’s gaze and holding it.

            “Hmph. Guess you’ll never know. You’re up,” Spotter announced, patting Sideswipe on his lower back. Lip curling up in rage at the unwanted touch, Sideswipe pulled Sunstreaker towards the ramp leading up to the ring.

            “We’ll see you later, Spot,” Sideswipe called over his shoulder, voice deepening in clear threat.

            Sideswipe’s sharp audials heard Spotter’s quiet snort and the resulting ‘not likely’.

            Sunstreaker heard it too and tried to turn back, but Sideswipe kept tugging. Spotter may dislike them for some reason, but he wasn’t the one they would be fighting. They had to save their energies for what was waiting for them in the ring.

 _Sides?_ Sunstreaker asked uncertainly, once Spotter had disappeared from view.  

 _He’s probably just tugging our wires,_ Sideswipe replied, sending another calming pulse to his twin.

_And if he’s not?_

            Sideswipe bit his lower lip as they arrived at the large double door to the ring. He knocked on it, the sound echoing. A moment later, it began its slow roll upwards, letting in the roar of the crowd.

 _Then we do what we do best, bro. Besides… I promised you a souvenir, and I plan to get you one,_ he said with a wink at his twin.

 _Actually, you promised me two,_ Sunstreaker countered, bumping his shoulder into Sideswipe’s.

            _Very true. And I intend to deli… oh, slag._

            Sunstreaker followed Sideswipe’s line of sight as the door cleared the level of their shoulders and tensed, his engine abruptly redlining.

            “… and presenting two of our resident champions and Twin Terrors of the Ring, Sidestep and Sunspot! Vicious and lethal, these two are testing their mettle against Uraya’s top fighting group, The Wreckers. Five against two, it hardly seems fair! But let’s see what our boys have in store for this elite cadre.”

            _Slag. Maybe Soundwave really_ is _trying to get rid of us,_ Sideswipe said a little faintly. Despite his shock, his processor was going at triple speed, gaze taking in each of the mecha already standing in the ring. He’d only heard of the Wreckers in passing; most gladiatorial rings fought combatants one on one. Rarely, there were teams like he and Sunstreaker.

            And then there were the Wreckers. Individually, they were nothing much to look at. Average height for the most part, except for one red minibot who was already excitedly cracking his knuckles as the twins were revealed. As a squad, though… they had been rumored to have been placed together years ago as an experiment. One which had succeeded as they actually cooperated with one another, unlike most other startup teams.

            Sunstreaker’s engine took on a high pitched whine as he crouched down, fingers flexing. _Who first?_

 _The green one_ , Sideswipe decided after a split second, the door reaching the top and then making its way back down as soon as they moved forward beneath it. _Cripple him, then take down the mini-con_ , he added as he saw the two mechs in question step towards each other with long familiarity.

_You?_

_I’m going for slim and speedy_ , he informed his twin, while keeping his optics on the purple femme instead. It wouldn’t do to telegraph his plans. _That will take care of the three in the middle. The last two will be up for grabs. Watch out for that red one; I don’t like the way he’s looking at you._

 _Like he’s hungry? Maybe I just attract voracious red mechs_ , Sunstreaker replied, looking over at him with a flirtatious little smirk.

           And that was much more coherency from his brother than Sideswipe had expected. Good. Sunstreaker’s berserker mode was effective, but often sloppy. And Sideswipe couldn’t afford to look out for his twin. Not today.

 _I love you. Watch your back_ , Sideswipe said softly, meeting his twin’s optics.

           Sunstreaker’s gaze gentled, just a touch, although Sideswipe could still see the leashed violence simmering beneath. _Same to you._

           Then the bottom of the door finally clicked into the ring’s floor, and a klaxon sounded, indicating the start of the match.

           Time to go to work.

\--

           Ratchet was greeted at the back door by a confused frown. “You’re Archway?” the slim gray and white mech asked, looking down at a data pad held in his hands. He obviously wasn’t a gladiator, but instead seemed to be one of the place’s runners or escorts.

           “Yeah?” Ratchet drawled. “Something the matter?”

           “Umm… maybe. Will you follow me, please, sir?” the shorter mech asked. Ratchet regarded him with an arched orbital ridge and then motioned for him to lead the way.

           “What’s your name, kid?” Ratchet asked after a minute of silence had passed. This place was like a labyrinth, and Ratchet had already lost track of the way back so he instead focused in on his companion.

           “Me? Oh, it’s Rostra, sir,” the mech replied shyly, seemingly surprised that Ratchet was even taking notice of him.

           “You don’t have to call me ‘sir’, Rostra. You know what I’m here for, right?” Ratchet questioned in amusement.

           Rostra nodded. “I do. But I also know you make more credits in a night than I do in a month. Also, there are explicit instructions for all visitors of your… profession… to be protected and treated well to the best of our ability. Sir.”

            Ratchet blinked a little in surprise. “Really? I did _not_ know that. What about if one of the fighters gets a little rough with me? You going to be busting down the door to save my fragile little self?”

           “Oh, no. We’re not allowed inside the fighters’ rooms. Only Soundwave himself is.” Then Rostra really looked at Ratchet, gaze traveling the width of Ratchet’s shoulders and chest. “Fragile? You’re bigger than some of the gladiators. Do you ever encounter issues?”

           “Not yet,” Ratchet admitted. “But you still didn’t answer my question. What if I’m truly in danger?”

           Rostra looks discomforted. “It… it is my understanding that you sign a waiver...”

           “I do. It covers a certain degree of injury expected from interaction of this type of clientele. To be honest, I’ve signed some which covered everything up to spark damage. Don’t worry, kid. I don’t expect you or anyone else to come barreling in. I was just curious. Seems Soundwave values our business,” Ratchet mused.

           “He does believe in rewarding the fighters,” Rostra agreed.

           Ratchet reached out and nudged the other mech’s arm. “But apparently not in paying his lower helpers all that much, eh?”

           Rostra ducked his head and chuckled. “Your line of work is far more dangerous. I merely assist in coordinating visitors.”

           “Yeah? So if this is your job, then why all the confusion when I got here?” Ratchet asked as they turned into another hallway. The previous halls had been dim, but this one was much brighter up ahead. Ratchet saw the reason why as the neared that section.

           This was actually an observational walkway, overlooking one of the fighting rings, probably the main one, judging by the size. Ratchet paused to look down into it, his nasal ridge wrinkling as he took in the odor of drying energon and other bodily fluids. Then he stiffened as he realized the floor of the pit was strewn with body parts and puddles of blood. They looked only hours old, and several more assistants were down among the mess, picking through the pieces and organizing them.

           “What… what happened here?” Ratchet asked faintly, pointing down into the arena. As he did, he realized that many of the seats had detritus like empty energon cubes and sweets wrappers on them, presumably left over from a recent match.

            Rostra came to a stop next to Ratchet. “Well, that’s part of the issue. You were meant for the winner of this fight. Except that the projected winner, in fact, lost. I’ve been on hold with Soundwave’s secretary; I’m assuming that you’re to be reassigned, but I’m confirming.”

            Ratchet felt his tanks curdle. He had known, in theory, what happened in the gladiator pits. Most of the events continued until one of the combatants fell into unconsciousness, and the one standing was deemed the winner. Matches to the death were less common, but still occurred routinely in most gladiatorial rings. They were attractive to fighters because the winner earned a massive amount of credits, easily quadruple what Ratchet received for a single engagement.

            He understood that need for funds all too well, but he only risked getting a little roughed up whereas the fighters risked deactivation. And of course, you had to be willing to kill as well. Despite matches being legally sanctioned and all gladiators signing waivers, Ratchet couldn't envision taking another's life to pay off his own debt. Just seeing the results of one of the fights was sickening. It made his medic protocols stir, and he wasn’t even a full-fledged doctor yet.

            “How many died?” Ratchet asked softly.

            “Hmm? Oh, four. I heard one’s been taken to the nearest hospital and is in intensive care,” Rostra said absent-mindedly. Then he brightened. “Ok, yes, I’ve just received word; your engagement is still valid, the target has just been shifted. Is that all right with you?”

             Giving a small shudder, Ratchet turned back to his escort. “Yes, that’s fine. Let’s not keep the winner waiting.”

\--

             Sunstreaker strode through the door into his room and then whirled around. He watched Sideswipe follow, bumping up against Spotter’s shoulder and making the escort startle and jerk away.

             His twin came to stand beside him and they turned matching dead-opticked stares on the third mech.

             “Looks like we surprised a lot of people,” Sunstreaker commented, flicking his hands and feeling drops of energon slide off.

             “But not you, Spot, right?” Sideswipe asked softly, his menacing glare all that more ominous because of the cracked and flicking optic.  “You were always so supportive of us. And now it looks like we’re going to be around for a bit longer. Isn’t that great?”

             “Yeah,” Spotter said faintly. He looked as if he were about to purge his tanks any moment and very carefully stood just outside their doorway. “Great. Have a nice night.”

             He backpedaled quickly, slamming the door behind him, and leaving the brothers in the darkly lit room. They turned to look at one another, and Sunstreaker felt his shoulders sag a bit.

             “What’s going on?” he asked piteously.

             Sideswipe stepped forward and began patting down Sunstreaker’s frame, searching for wounds and assessing them. “I’m not sure. It could be a test of some kind.”

             “Do you think we passed?”

             Sunstreaker flinched away when Sideswipe reached for his sparking helm fin. Instead of pursuing it or the obviously broken nasal ridge, Sideswipe stroked Sunstreaker’s cheek with a loving touch. Sunstreaker leaned into it, while internally lamenting how his face would look until his nanites healed the injuries.  

             “I have no idea,” Sideswipe replied, shrugging helplessly. “But we’re still alive and those other fraggers aren’t, so I count it a win.”

             “Can’t believe that damn mini-con is still alive,” Sunstreaker muttered, beginning to pat down his brother now that Sideswipe seemed to be done looking over Sunstreaker. “I could have sworn I punched straight through to his spark.”

              Sideswipe waved a nonchalant hand through the air, grunting in pain as Sunstreaker pressed against his abdomen. “Fragger probably had some kind of upgraded military-grade armor. Had to be, being as small as he was. It’s fine. The rest of his team is dead. And you got your trophies,” he added, gently pushing Sunstreaker’s hands aside. “Did you like how I ripped that racer’s face off?”

              He crowded in, pressing up against Sunstreaker’s front and nuzzling his jawline. Sunstreaker’s hands automatically rose to bracket his twin’s waist even as his optics darted towards the door.

              “Sides…” he whispered in warning as Sideswipe pressed a kiss to Sunstreaker’s jaw.

              “Yeah, I know,” Sideswipe murmured back, pressing his forehelm against Sunstreaker’s. “I’m too tired to do much of anything besides snuggle anyway.”

              “And you’re hurt,” Sunstreaker mentioned, thumb lightly stroking over Sideswipe’s belly. Something deep inside was grinding with every ventilation Sideswipe made, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

              “You think that’d stop me?” Sideswipe asked, optics lighting up with a mischievous gleam as he broke away from their embrace. He snagged Sunstreaker’s wrist and began pulling him towards the berth. “Come on. If nothing else, I want your spark. It’s the least we deserve.”

              “Do you really think we should?” Sunstreaker questioned as he followed his twin without protest. The transformation seams of his chest were already juddering at the prospect of a merge, but he felt a stirring of unease. “You know how it knocks us out for a bit.”

              Sideswipe paused, one knee perched on the bed. “What? You think they’re gonna send someone in to try and kill us while we’re sleeping?”

              Now it was Sunstreaker’s turn to shrug, and he gestured wordlessly to the door and the far away ring.

              Sideswipe’s expression crumbled as he released Sunstreaker’s wrist and sank completely onto the berth. “Well, cuddles are still awesome,” Sideswipe said, voice cracking.

              They were the same age, of course, but Sunstreaker had always felt that Sideswipe was older. Despite his flippancy and tendency to crack jokes, he was the strategist between the two of them. He got them into trouble a lot, but he was also the one to get them out of it, and any other situation they fell into.

              And to see him sitting there so dejected when normally nothing got him down… Sunstreaker couldn’t stand it.

              “Frag it,” he retorted roughly, climbing onto the bed and gently tugging Sideswipe to lay besides him. “Like you said: we make them money. Soundwave isn’t going to get rid of some of his best fighters. Open up.”

              Sideswipe complied with an eager whimper, his chestplates sliding aside as he arched towards Sunstreaker. Golden armor split down the central seam equally as fast, and Sunstreaker’s hands grasped at Sideswipe’s frame to pull him closer.

              So what if someone came in and offed them? They had had a good run and there was no better place to die at than in his twin’s arms.

\--

              “Here we are,” Rostra announced, stopping in front of non-descript door in the middle of an equally bland hallway. The escort started punching in a code into a nearby screen as Ratchet watched bemusedly.

              “Here? Normally I’m taken somewhere more… more,” Ratchet finished.

              “Last minute change of plans,” Rostra said apologetically over his shoulder. “Sorry, this probably isn’t as nice as what you’re used to with the guest rooms, but it should still be adequate.”

              There was the sound of a lock disengaging and the door swung open, revealing a dark maw of a room. Ratchet raised an orbital ridge.

              “In there?” he questioned doubtfully.

              Rostra merely gestured him in, checking his data pad a little impatiently. Apparently the helper’s help was needed somewhere else.

              Well, Ratchet _was_ here to get a little dirty, after all. Shrugging, he walked through the doorway, pausing just inside to let his visual sensors accustom themselves to the dim lighting.

              Seconds later, the door swung shut behind him, the lock re-engaging. “Good luck!” Rostra called out faintly, his pedesteps already fading away.

              Awesome start to an engagement.

              This definitely wasn’t going as well as his last few visits to the rings. He gazed around at the dingy, ionized flooring and scuffed up walls. Yes, Mirage and the other dainty bots would certainly have a fit if they got put into this situation. And that before they had even been touched by the client!

              Speaking of… was there anyone even here?

              Ratchet took a few steps forward, observing that the room curved at the far end, creating a little alcove. Within it was a rickety table and stool shoved against one wall and a plain metal sleeping berth on the other. 

              And it was there that he spotted his client. At first, Ratchet thought the mech was a colorful cacophony of red, yellow, white, and black. Then as he ventured closer, the heap of metal lying on the berth moved. And separated.

              Two sets of optics glared at him. 

               “Who are you?” the largely yellow mech snarled, he and his friend shifting into crouching positions. Ratchet held very still as their heavy frames and taloned hands were better revealed.

              They had obviously been caught unawares, and Ratchet wondered if anyone had even informed them of his impending visit. Considering their bristling armor, he doubted it.  And while he felt confident enough interfacing with a gladiator, he had no doubt he would get seriously injured or even offlined if he got drawn into a fight with them. After all, these two had just taken on five opponents and emerged victorious, proof of their deadly skills. So he raised up his empty hands and tried to look as non-threatening as a mech of his size could.

              “I’m Ratchet. I’m your… yours for the evening. For winning your bout,” Ratchet replied pacifyingly. Then he internally winced. He had automatically given them his real designation instead of his ‘stage’ name. It had been an automatic response in an attempt to appear trustworthy. It really wouldn’t hurt anything for them to know his true name, but it was a mistake he hadn’t made in months.

               Both mechs relaxed marginally, shoulders dropping. “Don’t want you,” the red mech scoffed, turning his back on Ratchet and nudging his friend. The yellow gladiator sneered at Ratchet before sitting down with his back to the wall, the red one pressing against his side as he mirrored him. 

               Ratchet shuffled his feet, glancing behind him at the door. Well, that was new. He’d never known a gladiator to say no to an interface before.

               “Well, you have me anyway. Or at least one of you do. They locked me in until the morning,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are both of you supposed to be here?” he asked after a short pause. 

                The red mech snorted. “Where else would we be? This is our home. Welcome to our humble abode. Be sure to wipe your pedes as you enter,” he drawled with a  grand gesture of one arm. 

                “No, I mean… I was told I would be servicing one mech,” he clarified glancing from one to the other. Although, now that he thought about his contract, he realized that it had only said he would be made available to the winner of tonight’s bout. He made a note to bring up that with their company’s owner as he took in the details of the mechs in front of him.

               They were covered in dents and tears, streaks and splatters of dried energon decorating their chests and upper thighs. The yellow mech looked to have a fractured nasal ridge and torn helm fin and the red one’s right optic kept flickering. 

                “Depends on how you look at it,” the red gladiator said. He seemed to be sizing Ratchet up, gaze slowly traveling down his frame. Ratchet thought he caught a flare of interest in those optics, but it might have just been the flicker of the damaged one. “We’re spark twins. One spark, two frames.”

                “Spark twins?” Ratchet repeated excitedly, taking a step forward. He immediately halted as the yellow gladiator growled a wordless warning. “That’s so rare! I’ve never met a pair.”

                “Well, now you have. Frag off and die,” the yellow mech muttered. 

                The red mech nodded his head towards his brother with a wry smile. “The surly one here is Sunstreaker. I’m Sideswipe. And we’re really not interested. No offense, buddy, but we had a rough bout.”

                As if the introduction was some sort of signal, the twins shifted again, curling in towards one another. Sideswipe moved jerkily as if something deep inside him hurt, and Sunstreaker angled his body protectively between Ratchet and Sideswipe. 

                Fascinating. 

                Ratchet wondered if Sunstreaker did it because of affection for his brother or to protect his own spark. Ratchet had heard that if one twin offlined, the other would follow. So it would make sense to instinctively protect the other twin if they were damaged. 

                Ratchet blinked himself out of his musings, his fingers twitching. “Ok. Well, is there a doctor coming to see you?” 

                “For what?” Sideswipe asked curiously, peering around his brother’s shoulder. 

                “For…?” Ratchet stared at him in astonishment. “You’re damaged!”

                 Sideswipe cocked his head to the side. “We’re not gonna die,” he explained slowly as if Ratchet was stupid. 

                “So? Don’t your owners care if you aren’t in top condition for your next fight?” Ratchet protested. 

                Sunstreaker shrugged, his voice a little muffled from where his face was pressed against Sideswipe’s shoulder. “We heal fast.”

                “But you’d heal faster if your wounds were cleaned!”

                “Yeah, well they’re not going to waste a medic’s time on minor things. We’ll be fine. Can you shut up now, I’d like to recharge,” Sunstreaker snapped. 

                Ratchet boggled at the both of them for another minute before taking a hesitant step forward. 

                “I’m sure you’re tired. But if you don’t want to interface, would you at least let me treat those cuts? I have a first aid kit in my subspace,” Ratchet explained. 

                Sideswipe’s drooping optic shutters fluttered back open, and he looked at Ratchet with a pitying expression. “Guess you need that pretty frequently in your profession, huh?”

                Ratchet drew himself up to his full height, propping his hands on his hips. “I can take care of myself. I have it on me because I’m a third year medical student.” 

                Both Sunstreaker and Sideswipe stared at Ratchet in surprise. “ _And_  a fragbot? Slumming it in your off hours a kink or something?”

                “No, you glitch… medical school is expensive!” Ratchet replied sharply. “I already have a large amount of debt accrued and I needed a way to help prevent more adding up.” 

                Sideswipe squinted at Ratchet for a long moment before suddenly struggling to sit up. Sunstreaker reared back in surprise, trying to restrain his twin. 

                “What are you doing?” he hissed. 

                “Free medical care!” Sideswipe exclaimed, gesturing at Ratchet. “That’s better than a frag any day of the week!”

                “You don’t know him!” Sunstreaker protested, grabbing at Sideswipe’s wrist as he slithered off the bed and stood. Sideswipe twisted out of the way, grimacing a little at the action. 

                “Then rip his head off if he hurts me,” Sideswipe said in an offhand manner which didn’t do a lot for Ratchet’s peace of mind. The red gladiator spread his arms wide. “Where do you want me, doc?”

 

~ End

 

 


End file.
